


Ale

by Shadowmun



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied Execution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27101455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmun/pseuds/Shadowmun
Summary: Jaskier gets himself into trouble.
Kudos: 3





	Ale

**Author's Note:**

> short and hopefully sweet, but more likely meandering between tragic and a sprinkle of humor.  
> non-native, non betaread, critics wanted.

The wheel was lifted high above the ground already bore a good share of crows. The execution probably had been a few days ago, yet, it still left an empty feeling in Jaskier’s stomach that could not quite be filled with food.

The feeling got worse, when he saw the public announcements posted. The poor guy up on that wheel had not been a criminal. A robber or murderer, a monster with human face. His crime had been to be found in the wrong place at the wrong time, bearing such offensive devices as pointed ears. This was no place for people who differed from the perceived normalcy. It was certainly no place for a witcher, yet, it was supposed to be the place, where he was about to meet Geralt in a few days. If only he had known upfront.

Uneasily he went on, leaving the notice board, suspiciously devoid of anything but zealous accusations and agitation, behind. There was a local tavern and inn that looked quite hospitable despite the ill-willed citizens of this small town. Jaskier planned only for a lunch here, some wine maybe, while he tried to work out an idea, how to contact Geralt, so they could meet somewhere else. Yet, his doublet and his lute begot him more attention than he had anticipated. The innkeeper, a woman of 40, a child on each hand, refused payment, once she saw them and almost begged him to stay and play in the evening. It had been so long since last a bard had come here and lightened their day.

Jaskier could imagine, exactly why. But he was unable to refuse such constant and intent pleading by both the woman and her kids. Surely, one night wouldn’t hurt, it was still some time until Geralt was to be expected. Furthermore, he needed time to work out something anyways. And the offer of another good meal and possibly even a decent bed for a change dissolved the rest of his hesitation.

That only left him with one problem: His repertoire would be very limited this evening, for it seemed unwise to strum along any of his favorite ballads of lately. And if, gods forbid, he risked pitch the first notes of “toss a coin”, he might as well have stayed near the gallows to save him the way.

In the end, if for the sake of diversity, he might even be forced to sing a tune of one infamous Valdo Marx. No, no, before that happened, he’d rather risk an execution…

Jaskier shivered in disgust and sighed. Even with the good hospitality of the inn, he couldn’t quite settle. So he wandered aimlessly around the town, that seemed so similar to any other of the same size, if he hadn’t seen for himself, how they were even worse than most.

\-----

The evening promised to be a success so complete, Jaskier had seldom experienced. The prospect of a bard had gathered quite a crowd in the inn, before he even started. Men, women, children, everyone seemed eager for a little bit of entertainment. He started with a few well-known tunes, he liked, encouraging the people to clap and sing along, a jolly crowd, happily swaying with the rhythm. Next, Jaskier presented some heart-breaking love songs, leaving the women sniffling. A few dance tunes put the people back in good mood again, and every now and then, a new tankard of the good, tasty local ale appeared beside the bard, watering his throat and smoothing over the edges of his lingering unease. The more he drank though, the more careless he got. He sang the ballad of the lonely merwife, out to get herself some young fellow for fun and despite his worries it was well received. Some young men even mimicked his joking performance on how she always fell short of eventual success.

Next came the song, of a castle, haunted by its own lady, always a special one for him. The text did not actually show that, but it always reminded Jaskier of time, when Geralt had freed a princess from her striga curse.

All be itself, and generously fueled by oh, soooo much ale, his thoughts and his voice went to the one song, he had decidedly not wanted to play here… He was half through the first verse before he even noticed… With actual terror he went on, closer and closer to the all too famous chorus, a probably deadly cliff in his performance. He would have just… stopped, but the audience watched him with the strange, halted surprise a pack of wolves might have shown, if a sheep in a skirt danced and hopped happily before them… Jaskier really didn’t want to startle them out of that by just breaking out of the song… So here it came… “Toss a coin to your witcher…”

With the offensive word finally tumbling from his lips, the spell was broken. With an uproar the men lunged forward to catch him and teach him a probably valuable lesson on decent choice of words… Yet, terror was a better motivation than moral indignation. With a high-pitched end to his song, Jaskier grabbed his lute, sprinted out of the back entrance of the tavern and ran, ran into the darkness of the falling night, through fogs that made a friendly shield against hostile eyes for him.

He did not sleep in a nice bed that night… And had quite a few problems to persuade the witcher, nothing he left behind was important enough to go back there, when by sheer accident he met Geralt the next day.

The ale had been good though… And he didn’t even have a hangover.


End file.
